Luyện nghe bài hát Family Reunion

[Intro - BH - talking]
Uh oh!
that time again
It's too long
It's reunion
We got to school y'all to the (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?)
You what let's talk to 'em (HUH?)
go (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?)

[Joe Budden - behind Killa BH]
Uh
Mic check, mic
Check, one two, one two

[DJ On Point -
Y'all already know what it is (y'all already know what time it is)
reunion (family reunion)
Ransom (Ransom), Hitchcock (Hitchcock), Fab (Fab), go

[Joe Budden - behind DJ On Point]
The is out niggaz, uh
Get 'em boy

[Verse 1 -
Ain't tryin to rap or play me
I'll be at they crib with a hammers and a black old AV
gonna pay me, still get the smack off Baisley
Cause I'm touchin diesel than Shaq old lady
Boy, you did it, I it, I get it, I punish
The shit that I with'll separate a rib from a stomach
I'm the boss, when I spit it, you it
Matter fact, I'm a Viking, I a whole village to plumage
Yeah, the nigga is here, the city is
You got the throne? Then I think I to sit in your chair
We could really get here
And the the limit nigga, I put your whole clique in the air
Baby, so quit playin, 'fore the spray 'em
And his MIA like Nick Saban
His whole shit caved in, my whole clique
bodied nigga, my whole shit pavement
You can't spit if you dead in the
In the woods, where your be found
And it's good that you gettin it now, in the confessin it now
I can't with the rest of you clowns, faggot

[Verse 2 -
High in the silence the storm
Lincoln Park, the
Slang on the same block that the water on
I be than gone, run and get your order form
Next I record a song, gon' put my daughter on
Cause she realer than most
I triggers, for you broke niggaz and gold diggers with no figures
That why I palm the heater, for all you
I'm on ass like white on Rice, I'm Condoleezza
con the preacher, you tryin to get on a feature
Better get casket bastard (why?), I'm gon' eat ya
We ain't in the same weight
Your fake ass, couldn't stop a nigga with pads
I'm way past, anything you ever did
I'm better kid and we sweat a bid
It's to get a cig
In the bing, I'm Ving Rhames, I bring pain
I sling off the wing like I'm King James
Y'all doubtin
When I spit the whole lead, they be Code Red, like Mountain Dew
'Fore I count to two, you could get your blown (OH!)
Cause your chemic's out of like a TracFone (NIGGA!)
Get homes, I'm back on my shit
I mingle, I'm like Pringles, stackin my chips
my fifth, you the 'test me type'
Comin out a "Blade" to get Wesley sniped
So the cops could arrest me, It's not happenin
You ever gonna get on, so stop rappin
(H20) this summer, so stop askin
All like Wall Street, your stock crashin
Now the Feds want to his rights
have mercy, Jesus Christ, I got passion
I'm black and all my niggaz gettin 'feti
We in the Chevy and ready to pop and (what? OH!)

[Chorus - Joe Budden - w/ ad
So whatever you to do little niggaz (niggaz), I already done (done)
And since you want to live by it little nigga (nigga), die by the gun (gun)
See whatever you to do little nigga, I've already done (done)
So how the fuck you win little nigga (nigga), I've already won (won)

[Verse 3 -
we always do it, d-d-damn
Yes (yes), go (yes), uh huh
Aiyyo, is the root of all evil I thought
But I'm broke is usually when I have the evilest thoughts
That's when the arms come out, like sleeves it's short
With more bullets than your favorite wide receiver has
And that Mossberg, ya Steve Smith & Wesson ya
Your shoes pop up Instant Messenger
got mail, naw nigga you got shells
And my Mac, you can't use for
I've got that, confused will lie flat
And my gat is on leg thigh tat
I nigga, who you dudes
Some broke niggaz who tryin to get some youtube
So 'less you want a blank, boy you're too close
Bail's in pocket, this is Lou Los
I'm pretty sure more hotties seen me in that door ridey
Double like a sawed off shotty, nigga

(IS THIS YOU WANT?)

[Verse 4 - Joe
Look, I sickly, ridin, bumpin old Biggie
Roll with me or lose weight, Richie
Fuck plat, if I don't diamond fame
I treat a nigga's like the old Simon game
out why men try us
Cause we OD on rims and then tires, for we Len Bias
All it takes is a
He ain't brave, he a
I'll put his family in boxes, meet the Bunch
How y'all yourselves?
Should kill yourselves, us Cowboys don't you, you Bill Parcells
And you ain't got to empty pockets when the K's out
Whatever you is mine, you my PayPal
See I don't get how this guy is a
I his life inept for a pie to the neck
Ride or die, if you both nigga, to the death
I acappella the whole left side of his
Not retirin, still got that pension
Tryin to pop the hood and see the engine
Double shotgun, have your men get missin
She got pretty brown eyes and she in condition
Oh the cig in the car, you en moi
the ratchet go home and just Chris Benoit
I a bird like it is, you promise the broad
I one her (you), you Isiah Thomas the broad
I send a clique cartridge at a nemesis target
And catch a ROR on Jena 6 charges (naw)
Naw, I'll put this away
I even need a whole hairdo to flip 'em, all it take is one finger wave
Been in the for days, show you how I'm real
home to the truck with the Optimus Prime grill
Handed out crack, got the poppin off
They not on 'em, the fiends is noddin off
For real, tell me how you a and you Superman (nigga)
I just you in the club doin the Superman (nigga)
A of clowns homes
All I need in this world is the pound chrome, Huxtable stone
paper (I mean), cake by the layers
If these is live, I'm the Creative Player
callin 'em 'Kings' when they so so hot
Something's wrong that picture, must be Photoshop
I don't promote violence, but when the flame - BLAM
Arms start wavin like the Carlton dance
When them go pop, it move whole blocks
Come around your dog and get Cujo shot
MC's is lame, I try to be an MC with brains
These niggaz is MC
Bein nice, rappers is far bein nice
I'm on the recordin, and niggaz is bein sniped
It's

- w/ ad libs]

[Outro - DJ On Point - talking - w/ BH ad libs in background]
Shout to the BSC (whole BSC)
to my nigga Dru Cartier
SlimeBugz, DJ
The Don (The Don), Dre (Dre Bless)
DJ Baby Dru (DJ Dru)
My Freeze